


'Lost' Is Just Another Place

by laksi



Category: Supernatural, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: AU, Case Fic, Crossover, Humor, M/M, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laksi/pseuds/laksi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Winchester brothers team up with their ex-angel to take on Night Vale and what it has to offer, make friends with a certain radio host and his scientist, and try to solve the mystery of the old oak doors.</p><p>Beware of the Smiling God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Left Turn On A Red Light

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the first one I've written in many years. After finishing Supernatural season 9, I decided I wanted to write something that handles Cas being human a bit more than the show did. And while that alone could've been interesting, I've been listening to a certain podcast... And then this fic happened. It diverges from canon at the end of season 8.
> 
> My first language is most definitely not English, so I'm currently looking for a beta! Contact me if you're interested. :) You can also find me on Tumblr: http://lakstingala.tumblr.com/
> 
> Supernatural and Welcome to Night Vale belong to their respective authors and producers. I'm just playing with the boys for a while, and will make no profit from this. The chapter's name is a song by Blackfoot. Special thanks to my friend Liselle, who told me to post this.
> 
> Love, laksi.

**1\. Left Turn On A Red Light**

_Picking up a lost friend, getting lost in turn. Smooth voice on the radio making bad music allusions._

 

They are on their way somewhere, as per usual. Sam was awake and bitching about the music while crossing the border from Texas to New Mexico, but after that the lull of Route 40 and the desert skyline made him nod off. His head is lolling sideways, breath fogging the car window. He's pale, but the sun is starting to bring back his colours.

Dean has been in a good mood, despite the events of the past months. Or maybe because of them. Not knowing what's going to happen is nothing new in his books, but this is. He knows the angels fell, and that Heaven is locked off with its sole inhabitant. He knows there is leftover grace dissipating all around the world, and new fallen angels being born as humans. This has been going for a while now.

What Dean does not know is how it will pan out, in the long run. The grace that was ripped from the angels is a mystery. Bobby had nothing of use to offer, because how did you research God's army being thrown out of Heaven? Their best bet is that the grace will just dilute, maybe even do some good every now and then. As far as they know, nobody has been trying too harness all that power. They're on the lookout, though.

The radio spits out the cassette and he just picks another one at random and jams it in. He'd kept playing Mötley Crüe just to annoy Sam, but now he's in the mood for something calmer. The intro begins playing, and oh boy, it's Bruce. Dean hums along to _Born in the U.S.A._ because he can and wants to and there is no Apocalypse happening for now. Sammy has been out of hospital for weeks now and he's not dying.

Sam wakes up for a short while to mumble something about guitars and desert and the evening sun. Dean can't be bothered to answer.

Here's one more thing Dean does not know: Cas' whereabouts. They have not heard from him since the business with the Hell Gates.

Dean is worried, now more so as Sammy's not dying anymore. If he is honest with himself, he misses the damn guy. He's kind of longing for a chance to just live and hunt, and that hope always included Cas in his team.

When _I'm on Fire_ starts playing he gives up singing and just steps on it. The Impala roars, yet the scenery is unchanging. Just desert, the setting sun and no motels or diners in sight. The engine's noise wakes Sam up a few minutes later, and Dean slows down to normal speed. As Sam is showing off his gums and trying to combine his ridiculous, tall body and stretching inside a car, Dean imagines seeing a car pass them in the distance. It's impossible, as it is not moving on the only road that stretches across the desert. It's also way too fast. He blinks, it's gone, and forgotten in the next second.

In retrospect, that was the first sign. Not a mistake, just a sign. You know.

”Dude, where are we? Are we there yet?” Sam asks when he's given up the hope of straigthening his back. Dean snorts, but he can also see how Sam's cheeks are looking less sunken and his eyes have for once lost the permanent tiredness that comes from almost closing of Hell and then giving it up.

”We didn't agree on a location, we're just seeing if that leftover grace is acting up. You're not up to hunting yet.”

”But weren't we supposed to stop for the night? Don't tell me you managed to get lost on a straight road,” Sam retorts and looks through the window. Dean rolls his eyes.

An hour later he's starting to suspect Sammy's right, because what the hell. They're been on the road all day, after leaving Little Rock in the morning. The road goes on, they're still in the desert and nobody has passed them for a good while. Once, Dean think he sees the super fast car again, but it's gone the second his brain registers it. Sam digs out the EMF-meter just to do something, but it stays quiet.

Two hours later, they're still driving. Dean's mood has gone sour ages ago and Sam looks tired again. That's when Dean calls Bobby. After exchanging the mutual quips and whatnot, he asks Bobby to track down his cell signal. The line goes quiet, and then Dean realizes Bobby is snorting with laughter.

”You boys managed to get lost on a straight highway? Damn son, that must be an all-time low, even for ya,” he chortles, but Dean can hear him typing.

”Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm sure something's up, though, we've been here too long. And it is still Route 40, I know that.”

Bobby just hums and Sam rolls his eyes. Dean keeps driving, because what the hell else can he do?

This is followed by a few minutes of silence, until there's a sigh on the other end of the line.

”Gotcha.” Dean is ready to flip Sammy off, he's _not_ lost, but then he hears a low ”what the hell is that” and knows something is most definitely heading south, any minute now.

”What is it, Bobby?” he demands and slows the car down a bit. The headlights sweep the barren earth lining the cracked asphalt. It's dark and the stars have come out.

”I- You, just, _where_ the hell are you? I found your signal, you were in New Mexico, but then it jumped to Colorado, Texas, and currently it seems unsure whether Kansas or Tennessee would be better!” Bobby grunts, offended at technology.

Dean whistles, for the lack of a better answer.

”Well, damn. We are in the desert, definitely in the Southwest. We left Little Rock this morning and have been on Route 40 since then. We crossed the New Mexico border hours ago.”

The line starts crackling and ain't that just the way their luck works.

Sam looks alarmed and fights to keep from asking questions. He returns to watching the stars, squinting up at the night sky while Dean drives on.

”--no signal,, but-- Keep go-- No, scratch that, don't-- listen, idjits-- stories, like-- triangle, but worse.”

And then there's no Bobby on the other end of the line anymore. Dean curses like a sailor, throws his phone with no signal in the general direction of the backseat and then hits the brakes, because _somebody is standing in the middle of that godforsaken road..._

Brakes make screeching sounds and Dean is forced to swerve on the opposite side of the road. They pass the person and come to a stop. Dean kills the motor and slams his hand down on the steering wheel, fuming.

”Fuck! I hate the Southwest! And I hate whoever that is!” He growls as he digs out a shotgun, throws perplexed Sammy a bottle of holy water and climbs out of the car.

The person's silhuette is visible in the dark, looking back at them. Dean aims a gun at them, and for a short while his mind supplies him with wonder about the sky, and desert, because something feels strange. Then he forgets all about it, because he sees the stranger's face and it can't be...

He can distantly hear Sammy draw a shocked breath.

Cas is standing on the road, looking at Dean like he, too, has seen a ghost.

”Cas? That you?” Wow, does that come out broken. Dean walks towards his friend, still keeping the gun pointed at him. Cas swallows a few times, raises his hands slowly.

”It's me, Dean. It's me. You can put the gun down.”

Dean jerks his head at Sam, who walks cautiously towards Castiel. He sprinkles him with holy water, slices a thin cut with a silver knife. No screaming or smoking follows, Cas just makes a face as he's cut.

Dean drops the gun and before he knows it, he's hugging Cas. Cas takes a while to catch on, but when he hugs back, it's real and a little bit sad. Dean feels a sting somewere around his chest, but pushes it away. He steps back, keeping his hands on Cas' arms. The angel, no, ex-angel, looks worn out, his stubble a little out of hand. No trenchcoat, just the rumpled suit and slightly greasy hair. He's dusty and smells like the road.

”Where have you been, Cas?” He asks, hearing Sam echo the wonder. Cas shrugs.

”Here, I think. I've been hitchhiking all day. I just... Appeared on the side of this road after... Metatron. That was earlier today.” He finishes and swallows. ”I would have called you, but the phone you supplied me with has no signal.”

Sam clears his throat, Dean feels frozen.

”Cas, it happened over two months ago. I just got out of hospital a week ago.” Sam pushes his overgrown hair out of his eyes and then hugs Cas, too. Dean doesn't want to let him go, not now when he can feel and hear him breathing and _he's there..._

Cas smiles a small soft smile and looks down. Clearing his throat, he looks back up at Dean, who can't help grinning.

”Do you mind if I ride with you” Cas asks. ”I... Lost my wings, among other things when I was cast out. I was the last, Meatron wanted me to watch and remember it all, and... I was the last. I've been there, I think.” He drifts off, sounding angry. Dean, being the master of Feelings And Moments, decides that moving anywhere is best for now. He walks them back to the Impala, which is cooling and popping on the road.

”Cas? You don't happen to know where we are?” He asks, when it occurs to him that they're still lost in the middle of somewhere. Cas squints at him and Sam, like he can't tell if they're messing with him. Sam snorts.

”Dean managed to get lost on a straight road, and then Bobby told us that he couldn't locate us at all. And now we're on some sort of a signal-devoid road of perdition,” he laughs, like it's somehow funny. Dean catches Cas smiling at Sam, amused, and that if anything makes him feel less worried.

Cas looks up at the sky and proceeds to track the constellations, frowning and muttering. Then he shakes his head.

”We're just four miles from Night Vale,” Case declares and holy shit, how awesome is that, his angel friend is like a human GPS. Dean gives himself a mental kick at that, it sounds retarded even in his own head.

Sam declares he's never heard of such a place. Neither has Dean. They dig out a battered road map from the Impala's trunk and spread it on the cooling road. Dean sees Cas press his hands on the asphalt, like he's absorbing heat. He sees another wondering smile and then focuses on the map. Sam is already getting a real bitch face, which is not a good sign.

”So, we're supposed to be in New Mexico, right? We passed the border a couple of hours ago, so not too far. Well, guess what, there's no such a place as Night Vale. You sure about this, Cas?” Sam looks up and looks genuinely offended that the map was of no help.

Cas has this wondering look he gets when he doesn't understand some human thing.

”Yes I am, Sam, unless the stars have somehow changed their location in the past two months.” Dean can't help laughing a bit, as the ex-angel tries to sass his little brother. Sam pouts, but keeps perusing the map, reading every single nowhereville's name twice.

Cas jerks his thumb further down the road. Dean spies an old-looking road sign there, and true enough, it does say ”Night Vale, 4.” Under it somebody has nailed a hand-painted sign, which simply declares _”welcome, very much welcome”._ In purple paint.

Dean looks at Cas, who is staring at him much like before. He feels very unamused, the sign kind of brings back memories from one apocalypse or another. Sam groans again and folds the map.

”No use. We're lost.” He looks at the sign and the road, then at Dean, shrugging. ”We might as well go and check this out. A town that doesn't exist sounds like our kind of strange, anyway.”

Dean doesn't answer. He looks at Cas. The angel rolls his eyes at him, the bastard.

”I'm a human, Dean, not an invalid. I have all my memories, and this body is not useless, either.” Cas proceeds to roll his shoulders, which causes the white shirt to stretch across his chest. Dean feels all the age-old attraction and suprisingly, fondness, well up. He follows Cas and Sam to the car and feels kind of like home, for the first time since who knows when.

 

***

 

The warm feeling is shaken almost immediately, when the radio refuses to work. It sputters and crackles, but none of the usual stations work. There's just lots of background noise. Sam swears he hears humming every now and then, but Dean suspects it's just in his head. He voices his thoughts and gets a drained ” _Ugh, Dean_ ” in response. Cas tries to hide his smile, but Dean sees it and winks at him.

They drive on. The road is completely deserted and there are no lights to be seen anywhere. Just as Dean is about to let them all know what he thinks of Night Vale and life at the moment, the radio gives a high-pitched squeal and an impressive cacophony of static. Then the signal clears and a smooth, male voice is drifting through the speakers.

”...and we can conclude that all is well. The catastrophe was avoided, not thanks to any city officials. We here in the Night Vale Community Radio would like to remind you that the book ban is still in place, despite what the people who might be watching you might say.”

Dean rises his eyebrows and Sam seemingly can't decide whether to laugh or look indignant. The voice continues, sounding chipper.

”Breaking laws is bad, dear listeners. Some people have a hard time grasping that, and that's why we have government officials _everywhere_. As our program draws to a close, they are keeping an eye on all of us. I can even see their little camera right now! Hi there, whoever is watching me.”

Cas tilts his head, Dean snorts a laugh. Sam tries to change the channel, but even as Dean swats his paws off, the radio's controls seem to have stopped functioning.

”So, it is dark again. The void is where it has always been. Oh! Listeners! I'm inexplicably drawn to remind all city-bound drivers to take a left turn in the first red lights they see, if they are looking for... _Any. Help. At. All_. Otherwise, there might be dire consequences that result in the loss of at least some fingers and toes.”

All amused laughter inside the Impala has died. Dean is suddenly aware of driving towards a small town with streetlights on. Somehow, he had not noticed any town just moments ago. Judging by Cas' and Sam's faces, neither had they. The voice in the radio is calm, yet determined.

”I, Cecil Palmer, would like to thank you, listeners. Stay tuned next for some noises of unknown origin. And remember: Left turn on a red light. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.”

The voice shuts up, and the radio starts giving undulating yowls and screeches. Thankfully, the volume control is working again. Dean slows down to a crawl and looks at his brother and Cas.

”What the hell?”

”It seems this man knows we are coming,” Cas supplies, looking thoughtful. ”This place feels... strange. Like there's something off, but not necessarily in a bad way.”

”No shit, Sherlock,” Dean scoffs. ”I say screw the advice, Blackfoot was never up my alley anyway.”

”I don't get-”

” _Anyway_ ,” interrupts Sam, ”we need to find out whether this is a real place or not. And find a way out of here. For now it seems like nobody wants to harm us. They just warned us, uh, about books. And such.”

Dean is about to insist on parking the car outside of town and laying low until tomorrow, but somebody crashes at them from behind. They all jolt forward, but some miracle has them wearing seat belts. Bright beams of headlights cut through the gloom of the Impala. During the half a second glance Dean throws back to see what hit them, he sees Cas' hair glow like a halo. Sam yells something incoherent about suburbs.

Then he tries to speed up, because something is coming and it's big. They're on its way, and it's certainly not going to change its course. The Impala roars, he tries to steer and generally just not get them all killed, all the time chanting in his head _I will not let them die, not now, not when Sammy's finally getting better and I finally found Cas and we could be--_

They speed past the outskirts of the town. There are houses, but there is also what appears to be a car lot. It's enormous, full of old clunkers and a pile of rusty yellow metal. All this is gone in seconds, as Dean tries to find any way to let the monster truck behind them pass. It's coming, less than ten yards behind them, and Dean feels how Castiel's fingers grip his shoulder. It's tight and it makes him think (with the small portion of his brain that is not taken up by yelling and driving) that Cas is scared.

He's human now, Dean realizes. Then he sees the red stoplight. It's at an intersection, which is illuminated by curiously green-tinged street lamps.

”Dean! Red light!” Sam shouts into his ear, just as Cas' fingers tighten more and Dean feels his shallow, rapid breath at the back of his neck.

”Take a left turn, Dean,” Cas tells him, sounding absurdly calm in the middle of all that noise and chaos.

Dean wants to tell them to shut up and let him drive, but he's overcome with terror. They're going too fast to take a turn of any kind, much less a proper one. But what else can they do? The light is right there, and if the man on the radio knows they're coming, maybe this place has something weird going on, or maybe it's going to be all right...

The second they pass the red light, he twists the steering wheel and brakes, sending the Impala spinning, tires screeching. The road is narrow and there are stone walls on each side. He tries to steer, tries anything, but they're still going too fast and, yeah, there comes the wall.

Sam screams (he will deny doing so later, when Cas mentions it). Cas yells, an honest-to-god howl of fear. Dean can't make a sound, he's too busy preparing to make contact with the wall.

Here it comes.


	2. Two Slightly Sampled Electric Guitars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giggling salad and prophecy on a taco. Dean is in denial and/or too lazy to freak out, Cas has wings (sort of), and Sammy's about to discover that not all libraries are to be approached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this in the works when I posted the first chapter yesterday, and couldn't leave it alone. The storyline has been following me all day, so here goes. All typos are still my own and will be fixed as soon as I open my third eye and see them. I can't believe the first chapter got over 90 hits in less than 24 hours! Let me know what you think, comments make my day!
> 
> Still looking for a beta! I'm aiming this to be something like five to eight chapters long, just to avoid the graveyard of eternal WIPs.
> 
> The chapter title is a line from the song 'The Bell' by Mike Oldfield.
> 
> Love, laksi.

"Oh, _look_ , Carlos! I told you so!”

Dean registers a voice that is familiar, but can't put a face to it. He opens his eyes.

They are all inside the car, they are all fine, no one is spilling their blood and guts on the upholstery. Cas is staring at him like he just swallowed his own tongue, while Sam is trying not to hyperventilate. Dean feels like he could scream, but is not sure whether he'd ever be able to stop.

There's a knock on the window, right then. A skinny guy with glasses is beaming at them. Behind him there's another man with ridiculously beautiful hair and a baffled expression. He gives a small wave when their eyes meet.

”Yeah, Cecil, you were right. They're here and they did as was expected. Now what?” The man, whose name apparently is Carlos, says. Dean opens the car door and steps out, not completely trusting his legs.

”What the fuck just happened?” he asks, as Cas and Sam file out of the Impala. Sam's hair is standing up here and there. The man with the smooth voice, Cecil, smiles. He has pointy teeth.

”You arrived here as the prophecy said. Two men, no, brothers. And their friend who used to be an angel but isn't now and who is apparently happy about it, and he isn't called Erika,” Cecil says and smiles even wider and shakes Dean's limp hand. ”Welcome to Night Vale. My name is Cecil. I'm the radio host at the local community radio.”

Cecil proceeds to shake hands with Sam and then Cas. Sam clears his throat.

”So you were the one giving us those instructions? How did you know we were coming? Even we didn't know that.”

”They were not aware of this town existence,” Cas adds and fidgets. Cecil hasn't let go of his hand, and is currently trying to peer at his back, as if to catch a glimpse of his supposed wings. Carlos smiles and shrugs, his handshake is more on the normal side, at least to Dean.

”I know the feeling. It took me a while to believe it myself when I, uh, moved here.” He looks vaguely uncomfortable. ”I'm actually still not a hundred percent clear on how that happened. A few years ago I just sort of arrived here, and the next thing I know, Cecil is waxing poetic about me on the local radio and swearing to murder the barber who cut my hair.”

Cecil finally lets go of Cas' hand and moves to entwine his fingers with Carlos'. ”It was a disgrace, a wrongness even greater than some horrors we have faced in the past year.” Sam runs a hand through his (still messy and ridiculously overgrown) hair.

”So, this place _does_ exist? You're not just a, you know, figment of imagination? A dream, or a heaven?”

Dean snorts and even Cas looks indignant. ”A heaven, Sammy? This?” He looks at Cecil and Carlos. ”No offence, guys, but this ain't a heaven. And what prophecy were you talking about?”

Cas tilts his head. ”How did you know I used to be an angel?”

It finally occurs to Dean that while he is in a strange place, talking to even stranger people, he is not feeling threatened. He hadn't even thought about getting his shotgun. These thoughts, absurdly, make him more nervous. Cecil smiles his toothy smile again and it grates on his nerves.

Carlos speaks up, apparently sensing that the two brothers are about to start asking questions with firearms.

”How about we go get some dinner? Cecil can explain all this then.” He pauses and frowns. ”Actually, even I don't have a clue why you're here. Only the locals are allowed to read the prophecies.”

”Actually, the prophecy was written on my taco wrapper, but it has to be a prophecy, right? It would be just silly to write something like that on my wrapper as a prank!” Cecil laughs and waves his hand. Dean can see tattoos stretch up his forearms and wonders why he didn't notice them before. For a second, they seem to be moving on their own. He blinks. Nope, definitely not moving.

”Yes, dinner sounds marvelous. You can just drive this way and turn right when you start feeling bored. We'll meet you at Big Rico's. It just _impossible_ to miss it. You'll see,” Cecil says and starts walking. Dean opens his mouth to ask for _real_ directions, but Cecil and Carlos have ducked on an alleyway, and when Castiel goes to take a look, they're gone.

The three of them exchange uneasy looks. Finally, Cas learns on the car's hood, looking very human and tired.

”They know about us, even about me. I think it best to go and see what they have to say.” Then he looks at Dean and smiles a bit. ”And I could eat. A motel with a working shower does not sound like a bad idea, either.”

Sam chuckles and Dean just smiles. He's starting to feel a bit more okay. Just before they all clamber into the car, Dean catches Cas' sleeve and is pierced by his curious stare. He clears his throat, feeling a bit sheepish.

”Listen, Cas, I really am happy that you're here with us. Being here isn't the greatest thing, but... You know, it is good to see ya?”

Dean is most decidedly not blushing, but it needed to be said, now that they have the damn time. Cas' smile is bordering on a grin, a little amused but mostly kind.

”Likewise, Dean.”

 

That's all that needs to be said, right at this moment. What follows is the Impala rumbling down the narrow street and the inevitable ennui making itself known without much preamble. Just as Sam is about to slip from his seat to the car floor (or attempting to, because we all know how that would end) out of sheer boredom, Dean turns right.

This street is much wider and better lit. They are in the town center, with very normal looking shops, closed for the night. Cas reads the stores' names to them, but they slip Dean's mind as he sees a garishly decorated restaurant at an intersection.

”You've gotta be kidding me,” he mumbles, but yes, the sign reads ”Big Rico's.”

He parks the car and they cautiously step inside. It's nowhere near full and it looks like a normal pizza place slash diner. Cecil and Carlos are seated in a booth for six, Cecil waving frantically at them. Dean, Cas and Sam sit on the other side of the booth. Cecil sighs in relief, slumping against Carlos who just accepts this display.

”Oh, goodness, you made it. Don't look at the bar, it wouldn't be wise.”

Naturally, all three of them turn their heads. This is followed by panicked scrambling, as Cecil and Carlos grab their heads and push them forcefully down. Dean manages to catch a glimpse of what looks like a tall person dressed in a black cloak, complete with a hood and all. As he is currently pressed tightly against the table, his right cheek rubbing against Cas' stubble, he doesn't dwell on on his observation.

”I told you not to look!” Cecil hisses, sounding equal parts angry and frightened. His fingers are gripping Dean's hair so tight it hurts, not in a good way. Sam makes a sound that could be a laugh, could be a scared, manly sob.

”We understand, could you _please_ let us go now?” Holy fuck, Cas sounds like he's growling. Cecil swallows audibly and releases his death grip. Dean's scalp could be bleeding for all he knows. He doesn't hazard another look towards the bar. Instead, he opens the menu, only to be disappointed.

”What the hell? Where's all the pizza?”

”After they banned wheat and wheat by-products, Rico's was forced to alter its menu somewhat,” Carlos says and shrugs. ”I'd suggest just getting something and trying to never discover what it is.”

The waitress, a pretty brunette with harrowed, hollow eyes, doesn't speak any language they understand. At Cecil's command, they still place their orders. The only one who looks even somewhat happy with his order is Sam, who orders a salad like a damned hippie he is. After the waitress backs off mumbling something to herself (Cas guesses it might be Sumerian), Dean scrubs a hand down his face.

”Okay, Cecil, spill. What was this prophecy and what did it say?”

Cecil crosses his fingers and looks thoughtful. Dean feels Cas shift beside him, just as he sees it. Cecil has what looks like a very well made tattoo on his forehead, hidden under the silver hair. He has a third eye.

”Don't mind that,” he hums, ”it's not interested in you. Where to begin? I was having a taco just the other day. When I was about to throw away the wrapper, I noticed it had writing on it. I was momentarily taken aback, as books are banned in this town, but then I told myself, 'Cecil, that is not a book, it's a taco wrapper.' I thought it would be just another plea for help from the kitchen staff of the cafeteria, but I was wrong. It described, in unnecessarily graphic detail, who you were and when you'd be arriving.”

Cecil pauses and glances at Carlos. The scientist shrugs.

”It told me you two,” he points at Dean and Sam with two fingers with purple nail polish, ”are brothers with a melodramatic past. Something to do with the judeo-christian apocalypse and whatnot. He,” a finger with black polish points at Cas, ”is your angel friend, recently turned human. He's also the one the older brother has the hots for, if I am correct.”

Dean can see Cas blushing furiously, and makes some uncoherent sounds of his own. Sam chokes on his spit and tries to hide his laugh, the bastard.

”Ha, see, Carlos? I was right, the drawing was accurate,” Cecil grins, completely unfaced. Dean fights his embarrasment to manage human speech.

”Drawing? What the hell are you talking about?” Cecil raises an eyebrow.

”The one on the wrapper, stupid. It was smudged by cajun sauce, but the eye sex you two were having in it was very noticeable and, I might add, awkward to watch.”

Yeah, that's about all Dean can take. He lets his forehead hit the table and hopes he will never have to face anyone ever again. Sam is laughing now and chortling something like ”Oh God, you guys have _no idea_.”

Dean risks a brief glance towards Cas, who is very quiet. The ex-angel is looking at him, still sporting a blush. But he is smiling now, just a little.

”Please, don't start now,” Cecil says with a yawn. ”I've had to deal with a lot emotional fallout already today, and it's such a bother to wash off from your clothes, don't you think?”

Before any of them can answer that, their food arrives. Aside from Sammy's stupid salad, everything is unrecognizable but, it turns out, eatable. As they sample their food, Cas addresses Cecil and Carlos.

”Did the taco wrapper say anything else? Anything as to why we were to end up in this town?” He stabs something like a fry to his fork and chews methodically. Cecil picks at his meal and hums noncommittally.

”No, not really. The sauce ruined the rest of the drawing. There was a mention of old oak doors, but I suggest you three keep away from them, if they even exist anymore.”

Sam, finished with his salad (it has been giggling when he tries to eat, and he tries very hard not to think about that), looks up.

”How come? What are those?”

Carlos looks him dead in the eye and answers, quietly: ”They led several people to another dimension. I was trapped there for months. The Smiling God almost got me.”

That doesn't explain much, in Sam's opinion. In the silence that follows, Cecil looks stormy and places his hand on Carlos' shoulder. Dean gets a feeling that there's more to all this, but is distracted by Cas' huge yawn. Suddenly, he's feeling ready to collapse. Maybe this could wait.

”Uh, fine,” he says and pushes his unidentifiable meal's remains away. ”Is there a motel somewhere close by? We really need to crash.”

Cecil brigthens and launches into an explanation that involves a story about condos and deer and Carlos. Sam at least seems to be listening, but Cas' eyes momentarily glaze over. After they step out of Big Rico's, Dean is left with the vaguest of memories about the story, plus directions to a motel that ”knows to expect them, because they don't really get much traffic at this time of the night.” All clocks they see show a different time of the day (night), but it must be late.

Just before they leave, Carlos grabs Cas by the arm and speaks to him in a low voice. Dean and Sam can hear Cas hum an answer, shrugging. Carlos then looks at the brothers and says:

”I've been an outsider here and I know how strange it can get. I know you're some sort of hunters, but please, don't shoot anything, or do anything. We'll meet tomorrow and talk more. Until then, just behave yourselves.” He contemplates something and sighs. ”Otherwise, you might get introduced to the Sheriff's secret police. They're the guys with the short capes and leather balaclavas. Trust me, you don't want to meet them in person.”

With that, he leaves with Cecil. Three incredulous gazes follow them.

 

***

 

The motel is an unremarkable building near by. The clerk is a jerk and the universe has something against them, because not only do they have rooms booked in advance by somebody who did not leave a name, Sam gets a room of his own (with a queen, no less), but Dean and Cas have to share. A room and a bed, it turns out.

When Dean goes to the desk to complain, the clerk looks at him, horrified, before scrambling backwards and snatching the phone, yelling something about following orders into it. He vanishes behind the counter, not to be found again.

Normally, Dean would be fuming and ready to burn something by now, but he just feels tired. If this place is supposed to be this weird, maybe this, too, just comes with the deal. Whatever.

Cas is in the shower when he gets back to their room. Dean listens to the running water and almost nods off to the sound. However, when Cas gets out of the shower, clad only in a towel, he is suddenly very awake and hastens to find the guy something to wear for the night. Cas is left with Dean's old t-shirt and sweats plus a confused frown, as the hunter rushes into the steamy bathroom.

The motel-provided shampoo smells like sunflowers (how he can place the smell is a mystery). Beating off would be too damn weird with Cas just next room, but images of him shirtless leave Dean with a heady feeling.

The ex-angel is burrowed under the covers by the time Dean has collected the remains of his composure and exits the bathroom. The bed only has one blanket, of course, and Cas is rolled up like a human taco. He appears to be asleep, breathing lightly. Of course the guy still has zero sense of personal space, as he is turned towards Dean and not facing the other way round like any normal person would.

As Dean stretches on his back and immediately feels like falling, he comes to a conclusion that Cas in definitely not a normal person, and that's good.

Dean wakes up for a few seconds and thinks somebody is standing at the foot of the bed. He imagines the person rising their finger to lips in a universal ”shut up you idiot” gesture, but as this causes no alarm in him, he thinks it must be a dream.

He wakes up again some hours later, properly this time. He's freezing his ass off and smacks himself mentally. Desert, of course it will get chilly at night. Getting a cold would be just swell right now.

Cas is curled up under the blanket and snores slightly. He looks warm and comfortable and for a second Dean contemplates freaking out by what he's about to do. He decides to have his gay crisis come morning. Instead, he lifts the blanket a bit and squirms under it, trying to avoid being too touchy-feely with his best friend. Whom he very much does not have the hots for, thank you Cecil and the prophecy taco wrap.

He expects to fall asleep again, but just as he's about to, Cas cracks his right eye open and looks at him, frowning drowsily. He has bedhead and his stubble is a dark shadow in the night's gloom.

”I thought you were going to sleep and freeze, just out of stubborness,” he mumbles, closing his eyes again. Then he pulls Dean close like it only natural. Dean gets a mouthful of dark hair and unconsciously adjusts himself against the warm expanse of Cas' body. It feels awesome, and not just because he thought he was about to get a frostbite.

He can't help smiling, right then, and after that is done he sleeps.

 

***

 

Dean wakes up on his back. He has an embarrassingly bad case of morning wood, and Cas lying almost completely on top of him is not helping. Dean keeps his eyes closed, because despite it being awkward as hell, it's still all kinds of awesome.

Okay, maybe some of the hots, then.

Dean tries to will his erection away, but somehow Cas shifting in his sleep and mumbling something about bees does not help. Then Dean opens his eyes to count the ceiling tiles or _anything_ , and sees the wings.

Here's what Dean sees: Cas is lying on top of him, shirtless and his head tucked somewhere in the near region of Dean's neck. His dark hair is messy and two huge black wings protrude from his back. They're sleek and move as their owner makes some sort of attempts at waking.

Dean makes a lot of noise then, mostly incoherent babbling. This wakes Castiel up. When he feels the wings, he freezes, still on top of Dean.

”What... Just, what,” Cas stammers and his expression is one Dean would pay to photograph any other day. Cas cranes his head and catches a glimpse of the wings.

They reach all the way to the other end of the motel room. The feathers are big, and all the blackness has a blue sheen to it. Morning sun catches it. Cas is still alarmed as he stretches the wings a bit. He doesn't seem to realize he's basically cuddling Dean.

Dean, on the other hand, is still sporting the most inappropriate boner of his life. As Cas makes a show of his new (old?) limbs, moving them and listening to the silent rustle, Dean can't help but reach out, mesmerized. Cas' hair (all bedhead, as per usual) is glowing, his face is openly confused but no longer afraid.

Dean's fingers graze the left wing and Cas jolts, turning to look at Dean. Many things happen simultaneously: Cas realizes he's on top of Dean, feels something that Dean desperately wanted to keep hidden press against his stomach, blushes furiously, and quickly rolls off of Dean. He doesn't break eye contact, doesn't say anything. Dean hopes for a quick and painless death, but is left staring Cas and his wings, still half-ready to reach out. It's a weird feeling, but not bad-weird. 

”Um. Sorry,” Dean offers, lamely, not specifying whether he means fondling Castiel's feathery appendages, rubbing his dick against him, or just the general awkwardness. Cas runs a hand through his hair and sits up. Sheets pool around him, revealing that while he had apparently stripped his shirt sometime during the night, he's still wearing the sweats. Dean is sure his brain is about to short-circuit as it is, when Cas continues to flex the wings and rolls his shoulders. It looks amazing, all the skin and the sinful roll of muscles, although Dean will be the first to deny ever thinking that.

If he does anything stupid, he'll blame it all on the taco wrapper and a certain three-eyed radio host putting ideas into his head.

Cas stops his stupidly attractive fidgeting and looks at Dean. He tilts his head, a familiar gesture, but then he has the cheek to grin. Softly, but still managing to look both smug and amused. Before he can say anything to further embarrass Dean, the hunter clambers off the bed. The wing-induced boner is gone, because apparently his cheeks decided that red is the color of the day, and a man only has so much blood in his system.

”So, yeah, wings? What the fuck, Cas?” Dean asks, and if his voice cracks, it's just because he's a bit thirsty. Cas looks at the wings and shrugs.

”Well, it is certainly not like the real things would look like these,” he says. ”These are more like what people imagine an angel's wings would look like.” And that's that. Cas does not remember anything weird happening during night.

Putting a shirt on proves to be nearly impossible, but somehow Cas manages to squeeze into one of the most worn-out t-shirts of Dean, although the neckline looks like it will never recover. Then they argue about whether Cas should remain hidden (Dean's opinion) or whether Night Vale is weird enough to accept a guy with huge wings (Cas', and later Sam's, combined logic.)

They end up having breakfast in a café that looks like it could be fairly normal. It is anything but, of course, but they serve eggs and bacon and tomatoes in all imaginable forms. Dean and Cas overdose on bad coffee, while Sam picks at his grilled tomatoes on top of more tomatoes. Finally he accepts that he will go hungry and announces his will go check out the library. Some moments after his departure, the horn at the door honks, and Cecil and Carlos walk in.

”Good morning!” Cecil smiles, looking at Dean and Castiel. Cas' wings have trouble fitting inside the small café, and the guy in question in looking grumpy about the fact.

”The weird is catching up on you too, it seems,” Carlos says, looking at the wings without so much as batting an eye. Cas looks like it's a touchy subject, which is a nice way of saying he is pouting.

”What is this?” he demands, voice low. ”Why do I have wings when I am no longer an angel _and_ when my own wings looked nothing like these?”

Cecil smiles and picks a tomato from Sam's discarded plate. ”As Carlos said, the weird is catching up. Not to worry, it will probably dissipate soon enough. We've just been having these odd situations lately. A lot of new babies were born just last week, even though the city council did not hand out child licenses. Some people, who have been denying something, have had it come bite them in the backside, so to say.” Cecil chews on a tomato, looking thoughtful. ”Our newest intern got lost in the mountains, despite being very skeptical of their existence.”

Dean does the math and looks at Cas. ”The grace, it must be,” he sighs. ”Makes sense that here it would do just weird stuff, instead of any good.” He rubs his temples. ”Here's hoping Sammy will find something useful at the library.

Cecil knocks Dean's blessedly empty coffee mug over. Carlos looks alarmed.

”The library?!” The scientist exclaims. ”Who told him to go there?”

”This is bad, this is very bad!” Cecil mumbles, looking even paler than usually.

Dean looks at them and then at Cas. The tension rocketing causes the wings to reach out and knock some paintings off the walls.

”The librarians!” Carlos says loudly, standing up. ”Sam doesn't know how to fight one off! He could die!”

Dean is starting to feel equal parts alarmed and annoyed. Cecil and Carlos look scared and tug them along, telling them to grab any weapons they might have and follow them, quickly now, it might be already too late.

Five minutes later, they are all in the Impala, and Dean is told to drive like his brothers life depends on it, ”because it really does, your brother is not a child hero, after all!”

Dean looks at Cas, stuffed into the backseat with his hugeass wings. He looks equally confused and nervous.


End file.
